Page 12 of Allure
You’re fine and out of danger.
“There might not have been danger there to begin with,” she grumbled to herself, feeling silly about her reaction.
“Talking to yourself there, estrellita?” Marco’s amusement washed over her, warming her. She basked in the feeling of safety that came with his voice. She was fine.
Marco handed over her iced caramel macchiato. Her hand shook as she took it and when she glanced up, catching Marco in his gray sweats and hoodie, her heart hammered in her chest for a different reason.
He looked so comfortable and at ease it reminded her of the man she left behind. The one who had dreams as big as hers, dreams that didn’t require him to be in a suit all the time. It was almost as disarming to Syra as was the man she met at their meeting.
A smile teased his lips, lips she had dreamed about being on her body too many times to count. His watchful eyes darkened as he took in her blue jeans and oversized sweater, which fell off her shoulder. She watched his nostrils flare and the muscle in his jaw tick when his gaze fell to her bare shoulder and then to her lips.
Syra let him take his fill of her, loving the way his eyes felt on her body. She wanted his hands to replace his gaze, and that should have been all the reason she needed to walk back out of Gregory’s and tell him the deal to partner was off. But she couldn’t get her feet or her mouth to move. She was still spellbound by him even after all these years. She wanted to be here—with him—even if she knew it might lead to her destruction.
Marco’s eyes narrowed when he glanced at her chest and back at her face. She swallowed a gasp at how harsh it made his features look. Gone was the fire that warmed her too-cool skin, and in its place was an anger that knocked the wind out of her.
“What’s wrong, Syra?” he growled as he took a step closer.
“What do you mean?” she stammered over her words as the sounds of Gregory’s melted away and her lungs worked double time to get air in her body.
“Your face is flushed. I know you didn’t run here. I saw you step out of the cab. You’re also running the back of your hand down the middle of your chest. That was one of your tells when you were agitated or something scared you.”
He took another step and leaned down so he was looking directly into her eyes. “What happened, estrellita?” He repeated the question. His voice was soft, a complete contrast to the anger that sparked in his eyes.
Syra tried to get breath back into her body, but his intense gaze seemed to suck up all the oxygen in the room. She tried to get her hand to stop moving too, completely unaware that was one of the habits she had when she’d been frightened, but the longer she stared into those damn eyes that truly saw her, the harder it was to do anything but lean on him. She wanted to take what he was offering with his simple question—she wanted him to slay her dragons one more time.
“Syra,” her name was ripped from his lips as his hand wrapped around her elbow. He tugged her toward an empty table and she went willingly. He put her in one of the chairs and dragged another chair over to the table so they sat close enough their knees were touching.
“Talk to me,” he hesitated a moment before he let out a soft curse. “Is what you have to say to me the reason you seem afraid?”
Syra snorted. “No.” She finally moved her hand from her chest and wrapped it around her cup. “It’s not…it’s nothing.” She tried to shrug and move on from the encounter, but Marco’s eyes narrowed even further, and she knew he wouldn’t let this go until she told him what happened.
“I ran into some guy when I got out of the cab, and he kind of gave me the creeps.” She took a sip of her caramel macchiato and sighed when the flavor exploded against her tongue. They soaked it in caramel, and the sugary flavor instantly made her feel better.
“If you saw me get out of the cab, did you not see me barrel into someone?” She whispered, wondering if he had seen her get out of the cab, why he didn’t intervene with the creep.
Marco shook his head. “They called our order up as soon as you got out, and I turned to get the coffees. By the time I turned back around, you were already inside talking to yourself.”
His gaze glanced behind her to the open bay window. She watched as he narrowed his eyes and his body went rigid. She went to turn around, but his hand on her knee stopped her.
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, I just saw some guy I went to college with who is still a prick.” His gaze landed back on her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, and the hand on her knee started making calming circular motions.
Syra looked down at where he touched her. His movement sure and natural, like he still had every right to touch her, still knew how to soothe her. She felt her body relax in his presence, and when he leaned in closer, she got a whiff of sandalwood reminding her that he had his own construction company and he didn’t always work behind a desk.
Images of him working with his hands, hands that were on her body, now turned her into a furnace. She remembered the way he touched and teased her six months ago—how he set her ablaze and made her cum till she knocked out. He had been the perfect blend of torment and pleasure. His hands were punishing when they smacked her ass or wrapped around her throat, but they had been just as quick to hold her while she rode out her climax and gently traced the outline of her star tattoos on her hip.
“Estrellita,” Marco’s tone was low, and she felt his breath against her face. “What naughty thoughts are running through your head right now?” he taunted, and she felt his hand move farther up her thigh.
“Marco,” she whispered, grabbing his hand on her thigh. The urge to pull his hand the short distance up her leg to cup her warm heat made her ache.
She was flustered; her skin hot and she could feel herself grow wetter the longer he stared at her like he wanted to sink to his knees and taste her.
“We can’t,” Syra’s voice broke, her body and mind fighting to give in and pull away at the same time.
“We can’t what, estrellita? We can’t talk? We can’t touch?” Marco chuckled, leaning even closer until their lips were barely an inch apart. “You’re the one holding my hand in a death grip and inching it up your leg.”
Syra glanced down before she looked back at his smirking face and cursed. She dropped her hold on his hand and scooted her chair back, putting some distance between them. This was why she didn’t want to have this talk in private. This was the exact reason why she needed to tell him she couldn’t partner with him. She felt like a teenager again, unable to keep her desires in check around the hot boy who gave her all his attention.
“We can’t take the partnership deal, Marco.” She let out a breath but didn’t look at him when she spoke; she couldn’t. She had to keep her resolve, and one look into the fire she knew was in his eyes and she’d melt for him. “It’s not a smart idea for us, especially given our history.”
